There’s a feeling every fat person knows. It happens in that moment when you’re watching something and enjoying it, and then suddenly it’s like you’ve been slapped in the face. Your stomach sinks and your heart twists and your chest tightens. Your smile dies and tears might even form in your eyes.
You’ve been hit with a fat joke.
Fat jokes can come from the most unexpected places at the most unexpected times. It’s not out of the ordinary to hear them in the mouths of otherwise kind characters, within shows and movies that are lauded as progressive and inclusive (I’m looking at you, Parks and Recreation and Brooklyn Nine-Nine). When a fat character is involved, it’s almost guaranteed that there will be fat jokes, or at the very least, the fat character will be the joke.
It’s why, as a fat person, I carefully monitor the media I consume. If I know there’s going to be a fat character, I have to consider whether it’s worth watching a show or movie where I might find bodies like mine being mocked or shamed. When I do turn on media with a fat character, I hope for the best but expect the worst. I brace for it to hurt.
Sometimes, though, I don’t get the chance to prepare myself. Sometimes the fat joke blindsides me and leaves me breathless in ways I could never have anticipated. Like when one of my favorite celebrities dons a dehumanizing fat suit, turning one of my favorite characters into a walking, talking fat joke.
Yes, I’m talking about Fat Thor.
Fat Thor in Avengers: Endgame shocked me and absolutely broke my heart. But he’s just the latest, glaring example that while things may be improving for fat representation on the whole, there’s still a long way to go — especially when it comes to male characters.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that Avengers: Endgame was probably the most anticipated movie of the year. It was certainly my most anticipated movie. I’ve been obsessed with the Marvel Cinematic Universe since around 2011 — because while I enjoyed Iron Man and its sequel, it was the release of Thor in that year that really got me hooked.
There was something about seeing Chris Hemsworth playing a literal god, stomping around spouting vaguely Shakespearean lines and being mildly and affectionately objectified that really sucked me in. My love for the character only grew over the years, reaching new heights with Thor: Ragnarok (2017), as director Taika Waititi unleashed his chaotic energy into the MCU and crafted a movie that allowed Hemsworth’s comedic talents to shine, even while stripping Thor of his girlfriend, his father, his eye, his best friends, his hammer, and his homeland.
Hemsworth, under Waititi’s direction, plays Thor as a three-dimensional hero who can deliver one-liners but also, crucially, show emotional vulnerability. And by Odin, is he powerful. By the end of that movie, Thor has realized that the external things he’s relied on to define his worth — his father’s opinion, his hammer — aren’t as important as he thought, and what really matters is what’s within. His power comes from himself, and the moment he embraces this and soars through the sky in a streak of lightning, set to the sound of Led Zeppelin's “The Immigrant Song,” is one of the most glorious moments in MCU history. Ultimately, Thor: Ragnarok is a movie about a man learning to love himself — not in a cocky way, as Thor does in the beginning of the series, but in a way that recognizes his true worth.
Fat Thor shocked me and absolutely broke my heart.This theme powers Thor through the events of last year’s Avengers: Infinity War. Despite losing half his people and his brother at the outset of the movie, Thor shelves his grief and moves forward with a determination born of his hard-earned self-belief. While there are many funny moments in relation to Thor’s character — including jokes about how beautiful his body is — Thor is allowed quiet scenes of contemplation as well as huge, action-packed sequences that showcase his power and heroism.
But one crucial thing happens in Infinity War that sets Thor on a darker path. As he confidently battles the supervillain Thanos, Thor sinks a blow into Thanos that should kill him — but it doesn’t. “Should have gone for the head,” Thanos berates Thor, right before snapping his fingers and erasing half of all life in the universe. Thor gets a front row seat to the disaster, knowing he came this close to preventing it. On top of all the trauma he’s already experienced in the lead up to Infinity War, it’s one hit too many for him, and he breaks.
Avengers: Endgame had a unique opportunity to explore Thor’s PTSD and depression in a nuanced and meaningful way. What does it look like when an actual god fails? How does someone with power literally running through their veins grapple with the idea that they were still powerless in the face of destruction and death?
According to Joe and Anthony Russo, the brothers who directed Avengers: Endgame, the answer to such questions is alcoholism, binge-eating, a general lack of self-care, and subsequent weight gain. These things aren’t inherently problematic. A fat, depressed alcoholic Thor could have led to a really interesting and refreshing exploration of mental health and addiction, and the way those things intersect with masculinity and the expectations placed on men and “heroes.” It could have been a golden example of how a fat man could still be powerful, and worthy, and attractive, and a superhero.
Instead, it becomes the comic relief of the movie. While other characters are given space to grieve and make inspirational speeches and try to move on with their lives, Thor wallows. His trauma is never treated with sincerity or respect. He’s become fat and lazy, dirty and gross, and for that he is punished. The camera lingers on his bloated torso, in a cruel subversion of the loving gaze normally aimed at a shirtless and ripped Thor. Other characters mock his appearance, comparing him to “melted ice cream” and suggesting Cheez Whiz flows through his veins.
A fat, depressed, alcoholic Thor could have led to a really interesting and refreshing exploration of mental health and addiction.
